


Ice Cream Special

by herprettysleeper



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: And his reasons will make sense when the time comes I s w e a r, CAN YOU BELIEVE HOW FLUFFY THIS IS MY GOD, Dallon has his reasons which we shall get into later, ENOUGH WITH THE TAGS, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Ugly, Past Brendon Urie/Dallon Weeks, and FOB are all besties, anyway yeah there's, i love this so much guys, i swear this is 99 percent fluff okay babes, love y'all, prehiatus Panic are all besties, tags updated as i go along, this is gonna be fun y'all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 03:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herprettysleeper/pseuds/herprettysleeper
Summary: Brendon's having a shitty time, and if the cute boy with the fedora is about to take the last tub of double chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream from this grocery store, he will fight him.(Or he'll fall in love. You never know.)





	Ice Cream Special

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halfsweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfsweet/gifts).



> This is literally the only thing that my brain is willing to produce.
> 
> This one's for halfsweet for squealing with me. I hope this lives up to the idea :)
> 
> I'll try to update every few days or so. Hope y'all like!

Brendon sniffles a little bit inside the thankfully empty grocery store bathroom, wipes his eyes, and takes a few deep breaths. He practices his smile in the mirror, then exits and heads straight for the ice cream aisle.

It’s been a shitty day Saturday so far. He’s been praying his body will give out so he won’t have to deal with any more emotions for the rest of the day, but nope, his stupid heart's still doing its job, and his stupid nervous system iskeeping him functional.

Yesterday, the day this mess started on, began as a poor day, with his alarm not waking him up and his boss berating him for being a few minutes late. Said boss was an asshole to him the whole workday, and then one of his coworkers  _ had _ to go and fuck up the paperwork they were supposed to be finishing together. But, alas, the evil boss had a favorite, and Brendon had to take the verbal beating.

Then he tried to head home, and his car broke down in the parking lot, which was bad enough. So then he took the bus, which wasn’t bad until he got back outside and Chicago’s weather had a mood swing and drenched him from head to toe.

But he saw the apartment building that contained the home that he and Dallon had made together, and he felt a distinct sense of safety. The sudden shower of rain let up and was just drizzling as Brendon made his way up the stairs.

“Hey, babe, I’m home,” Brendon said. Dallon usually got home an hour before him, but there was no response, no one to greet him. Well, it wasn’t a big deal–sometimes the company kept Dallon late.

But three hours later, he started to get worried.

He called Dallon, but as soon as he made the call it would be rejected. Maybe his phone was on silent mode?

He spent the next hour anxiously eating and pacing through the house, which felt empty even beyond Dallon’s absence, waiting for the love of his life to come home.

Dallon didn’t.

Brendon flopped onto the bed, hoping to nap and take his mind off of things. Instead, he found the letter on the nightstand.

And that’s why he’s headed to Publix on Saturday morning, trying to look like he hasn’t been on and off crying and junk eating for the last ten hours.

A new figure appears in front of the freezer in the store full of ice cream, and Brendon sprints.

Some idiot in a fedora is taking the last tub of double chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, and  _ he will not fucking stand for this. _ This dude is not going to take the one thing he’s been able to look forward to since last night when he spent his time crying and eating too much ramen. He’s not going to take his goddamned ice cream, too.

“Excuse me?”

The blonde man turns and offers Brendon a kind smile that reaches baby blue eyes. “Yeah?”

Brendon points at the tub of ice cream. “I need that.”

The dude raises an eyebrow. “Um…?”

“I will actually fight you for this ice cream,” Brendon threatens, and he’s aware that he probably looks like a mad man, with wide reddened eyes and disheveled hair and that this is not a proper coping method, but you know what? Fuck proper coping methods–he wants his goddamned ice cream. “I will, don’t try me.”

The man frowns a little and looks down at the tub of ice cream. “But–”

“Dude, I will  _ cut _ you–” But his voice collapses on the last word along with the last bit of will , and he curls into himself on the likely dirty grocery store floor, and fuck this stranger who is probably going to run off with his favorite ice cream, and fuck Dallon for leaving him with a  _ note. _

Except he suddenly hears a quiet voice saying, “Are you alright?”

Brendon looks up with teary eyes and laughs a little. “No,” he says, because he’s over here, crying on the floor of a Publix. “I’m sorry, I don’t need it, I just–I’m sorry.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

No, he doesn’t. He wants to be alone without anyone, locked in his apartment, where the memories hidden in every nook and cranny will suffocate him, only to force himself back together on Sunday and head back to work.

“Yes,” he says, because he’s never been good at being alone, and he knows it.

So he tells a pretty stranger about how in a barely a day, his entire life has gone to shambles. How he came here because as soon as he can, he’s going to get all of his stuff out of a home he can barely stand to be in. Ryan, Jon, and Spencer will let him stay in the two-bedroom apartment they share, where he used to live before Dallon. And they’ll hunt Dallon down and try to kill him, but that’s not the point.

“Do you want them to?”

“What?” He’s a bit startled, but then he remembers the cute blonde man with the fedora that fits him far too well is taking time out of his day to sit next to Brendon and talk about Brendon’s failed love life, because he’s got to be an angel.

“Hunt him down and kill him.”

Brendon sighs. “No,” he says. “He’s a good person. He’s kind, and you know. He was the kind of boyfriend you take home and show to your parents and settle down with and get married to and…I don’t know what I did wrong, but I know it was me.”

“You shouldn’t beat yourself up, okay? You don’t deserve that. A long time ago,” the blonde looks down and smiles a bit to himself, “I was with someone. When we broke up, I took it hard–really, really hard. But it’s not your fault. You seem like a good person.”

Brendon snorts. “We met because I threatened to fight you over ice cream.”

“Shh,” the stranger chides. “I’m trying to be positive here.”

Brendon simpers and the blonde reciprocates it, then says, “I’m Patrick, by the way. And you’re…?”

“Brendon Urie.”

“Stumph. Sometimes I drop the ‘h’ when I wanna sound important.” Brendon laughs a little at that, and Patrick seems a bit happier because of it. “Also, new plan: I buy this ice cream, and then we drive to the Square and eat it at one of the picnic tables.”

The squares the market center of the town, a neatly arranged outdoor forum with a bunch of small shops, old-school chocolatiers and bookshops and stationery stores, and there’s a place full of picnic tables where it’s mostly just friends catching up with one another.

“I don’t have a car, and you could be a serial killer,” Brendon points out.

“And this is exactly why we’ll take the bus, not my car.”

“I’m down, then,” Brendon says.

Patrick smiles and helps Brendon to his feet. “Then let’s go.”


End file.
